


Return Protocol

by Drag0nst0rm



Series: Wire and Code [6]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Robots & Androids, Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Gen, Nerdanel Does What She Wants, Protective Maglor, Temporary Character Death, implied minor character death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-07
Updated: 2019-07-07
Packaged: 2020-06-24 06:08:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19717783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Drag0nst0rm/pseuds/Drag0nst0rm
Summary: The Valar have given their orders.Nerdanel nods, smiles, and then does exactly what she wants.





	Return Protocol

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own the Silmarillion.
> 
> This is the last major piece for this, and the last chronologically; there will be one more short snippet set between the last two works in this series that will be posted next week.

When Celebrimbor was lost and the memory dump appeared on her computer, Nerdanel appealed to the Valar in the hopes that he, at least, might be reborn. He had taken no lives; all original restrictions remained in his code. It was not his fault Sauron had tricked him.

But the Valar saw only the danger of what he had made in those last few precious years.

Nerdanel performed the wipe, and she did not slip a copy into her pocket.

That job she left to her trusted assistant, an elf whose papers and appearance declared him a Sindarin elf who had arrived on one of the largest refugee ships that had been sent to Aman at that time.

If anyone had bothered to interview every last one of the elves on that ship, they would have discovered that not a single one would remember him, but Nerdanel had been very careful to give absolutely no one a reason to bother with the enormous hassle of that.

Nerdanel kept to her lab for the most part these days. She could craft her works in peace there and remember the days when a tall elf with fire in his eyes had worked beside her, and they had made the impossible together.

The Valar had decreed that Feanor would not be released from the shadowed halls of Mandos until the breaking of the world. Nerdanel had bit her tongue and accepted it, the way she had accepted the Valar’s decrees on the beings that everyone else refused to accept were her children. 

She bit her tongue for the sake of a memorial where a Teleri hangar once stood

She bit it harder when she saw the crowds of Sindarin elves arrive and wondered how many of them would be here if Feanor had not made haste. That comment, after all, could be too easily countered by asking, _And how many more might there be if he had not prioritized the Silmarils in his children’s programming?_

She didn’t know. She didn’t talk about it.

Not even to her seven handpicked lab assistants with absolutely impeccable papers that no one else had been given much cause to check.

Ships kept coming and coming as the battles for Middle Earth raged, laden down with weary elves and half-broken simulacrum of them. The elves were taken in; the androids were melted down for scrap. It was safer that way, and besides, they didn’t meet the new regulations for ‘droids, regulations carefully designed to make sure that ‘droids were not only harmless, but instantly identifiable as what they were.

Finarfin protested this policy when a higher level android designated Celebrian arrived. Nerdanel stayed out of it.

She was busy perfecting synth-skin that appeared to bleed when torn.

Maglor came home last.

Maglor, whose singing could put any biological elf’s to shame. Maglor, her precious second-crafted, who she could still remember having tiny, chubby hands. Maglor, who had sat on the table and chattered eagerly as she made him a little brother.

Maglor, whose carefully crafted hands had been coated in gallons of blood. Maglor, who had seen enough beyond OATH to protest it but had followed it all the same. Maglor, who had not joined Maedhros in searching for two little boys lost in the woods.

Maglor, who had taken Elrond and Elros home.

She was there when the ship landed. There were many who poured out of it, but she had eyes for only one.

Maglor. Synth-skin scarred and frame somewhat dented, supporting a near perfectly made android that could only be Elrond, badly weakened now that Celebrimbor’s upgrade had burned out.

His eyes met hers and widened. “Mother?”

She wanted to run forward and sweep him into her arms, but she couldn’t allow herself to move. Not here. Not now.

The proper biologicals had been quietly herded to the left. The androids - Maglor, Elrond, Galadriel, a few others she didn’t recognize - stood alone.

Maglor’s eyes shone with understanding too late.

The Valars’ widely proclaimed decree offering refuge had been only for elves. Not for those had instead been crafted, no matter how lovingly it was done.

The hangar’s guards raised their weapons.

“No!” Maglor shouted, shoving Elrond behind him.

Electricity arched from the weapons. Over half of the androids fell, limbs jerking and twitching as their circuitry fried. 

Maglor had been made sturdily, though. He’d been strong enough to survive Three Ages of the Worlds. He forced himself back up to his knees, and whatever else had been damaged, his voice was untouched. 

The power of it swept through the room, and just for a moment, the weapons ceased.

Another voice she didn’t recognize wove in with his, and she saw that Elrond had joined him in singing. It was Elrond’s turn to support Maglor now, and though his face, unlike Maglor’s was set in resignation, he sang on fiercely.

Galadriel. The others -

And then the guards’ fear overcame the song’s siren call, and the moment ended.

Maglor’s eyes remained fixed on her as he fell.

The Silmaril wasn’t on board, despite what many had hoped.

According to Maglor’s memory dump, that was because it had been a gift to Elrond’s youngest, Arwen, who had decided to make the choice of Elros and to spend her days with one of his line.

But Nerdanel had dutifully deleted that data, so there was no evidence let of that now.

Metal detectors were standard in security now, and X-Rays were not uncommon, which was why Nerdanel crafted the frame out of a durable material of her own making and modeled it after an elvish skeleton. The synth-skin she layered over it was warm to the touch; cutting it would release a red liquid that would easily be mistaken for blood.

The figure she made looked nothing like her second son, but she couldn’t quite resist giving him the finest vocals of any she’d yet created. Maglor was not Maglor without his music. They would have to be careful, that was all.

“Activate,” she whispered, and her son’s new eyes opened.

“Mother?” he said and startled at his own voice.

“All’s well,” she assured him, stroking the long hair she had given him. “I had to make a few adjustments, that’s all. I’ll give you all the details when you’ve had time to adjust.”

“I’m still here.” He sat up and looked down at his hands, flexing them, as his systems slowly came back online. His head jerked up as his memory updated itself. “Elrond?”

“My next project,” she promised him. Elrond had been trickier; she’d had to hack Anaire’s files to get access since he was technically of her and Fingolfin’s production line, but after that scene in the hangar, she couldn’t bear to let him wiped. “You can help me with him if you like. Maedhros has already expressed an interest.”

“Maedhros?” he asked. “He’s - he’s - “

“I brought him back too. Of course I did. All your brothers are here, and little Tyelpe too. They look a little different though, so I thought it was best to wait to let them in until I’d warned you.”

Maglor started shaking, a hand reaching out for her before he let it fall.

She pulled him close and tucked his head onto her shoulder. “It’s alright now,” she murmured. “It’s all going to be alright.”

She’d been meticulous with her attention to detail on his new form. 

If anyone had cared to run a test at that moment, they’d have found that his tears of exhausted relief were quite as real as her own.


End file.
